


Touchy Feely

by Barkour



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:11:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bart has trouble keeping his hands to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touchy Feely

Jaime worked at his dad’s garage over summer break, same as after his freshman year, both to help his dad out and to pay his folks back for college. What that meant was through all those long, hot summer months, Jaime walked around in worn-out jeans and scummy tees with the sleeves cut off. Most days he finished up his shift smeared with grease and gleaming with sweat, rubbing at his shoulders as he worked the kinks out.

“Yo, nene,” Jaime called across the shop, “you know I don’t get off for another few hours.”

Bart spun idly in the swivel chair he’d claimed. He’d long since finished off the popsicles he’d brought, and the heat was creeping on him.

“I know. Nine o’clock every day.”

Jaime emerged again from the closet. He’d pulled his hair back into a little ponytail, but his bangs stayed loose, curling against his brow. He eyed Bart. Grease smudged his cheek where he’d wiped sweat from it with his wrist earlier.

“So-o-o,” said Jaime. He tapped his hand on his thigh. “I’m not cutting early. Dad’s out, and I gotta watch the shop while he’s gone.”

Bart smiled, as cutely as he knew how. He had a lot of practice with making his eyes big and innocent.

“I know,” he said again. “I don’t want you to cut early. Your dad left you with a really big responsibility.”

Jaime worked his mouth and squinted. He was tapping his thigh again, and the lean muscles in his arm shivered with that work. In the morning he’d put on a tight t-shirt, and his chest was neatly outlined through it. Sweat dotted the neck and ripped up shoulders.

“You gonna tell me why you’re hanging around here or do I have to start guessing?”

“Oh, cool, a game!” said Bart. “Do that! The guessing. I bet you can’t guess it in three tries. If you don’t, you have to do whatever I tell you.”

Jaime sighed and passed Bart by. Bart didn’t mind. Jaime’s jeans were tight across the back and years of moonlighting as a superhero had ensured his legs were richly muscled and his butt a near wonder. Not that Jaime believed it. He got a little line between his eyes whenever Bart put on a show about Jaime’s shoulders, like it wasn’t a proven fact that Jaime’s shoulders were totally amazing.

“And what if I do get it right?” There was a car jacked up, its engine exposed, and that was where Jaime stopped. He glanced over his (totally amazing) shoulder at Bart, and Jaime’s eyebrow was crooked, the corner of his mouth too. “You have to do whatever I tell you?”

“Anything!” Bart batted his lashes. “But that’s only if you get it right first.”

“Even if I tell you to keep your mouth shut for the rest of the day?” Now Jaime was grinning. It creased his smudged cheek. “You couldn’t even do five minutes, ese.”

Bart folded his arms against this. “I’m not hearing any guessing. Probably ‘cause you can’t guess it.”

“All right, all right. Gimme a minute. This is a tough one.”

As Jaime thought, or pretended to think, he bent over the engine. His biceps tightened. The back of his t-shirt pulled up, showing off the small hollow at the base of his spine. His knees bent; one leg pushed out behind the other. Under his jeans, his thighs were tensed, probably.

“Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock,” said Bart, “I don’t have all day, yanno, there’s lots of stuff I have to do, like—”

Jaime’s tongue flashed across his lower lip. “Like—”

“Beating the new Battle Bots Brawl.”

“Man,” said Jaime, “you’re just here to torture me.”

Bart threw his arms up in an X and made a buzzer sound in his throat. “Engh! Wrong-o! But you get two more tries, Mister Reyes, so you still have time to make the points up!”

Jaime laughed at this, a deep rasping as warm as the way his eyelids drooped when he laughed. He turned his head slightly, smiling at Bart over his arm. Pleasure spilled sweetly through Bart.

“Do I get any lifelines?”

“Uh,” Bart said, thinking quickly, “you get one. Call a friend.”

He leaned over the engine again. The breadth of his back flexed. It wasn’t just the sweat sticking to Jaime, how his dark skin gleamed with it, or how his muscles tightened and eased as he worked. He knew what he was doing, a confidence so casual Jaime thought little of it.

Jaime made a humming noise. “Eh, I’ll save it. I think maybe I got this one. You’re here—” He paused for dramatic effect and also to pull something free somewhere in the car’s guts.

Bart made a drum roll by clapping his hands on his knees. When it was done, he mimed pointing the drum sticks at Jaime.

Jaime finished: “You’re here beca-a-ause you want to bum cash off of me.”

“Hey!” said Bart, indignant. “I don’t need to bum anything. And I always pay you back!”

Jaime gave him a look: brow arched, lips pursed. With his black hair hanging in front of his eyes like that, it was k-i-l-l-e-r.

“Yeah,” said Jaime, “you pay me back. In Chicken Whizees. I don’t call that paying me back.”

“See if I ever share Chicken Whizees with you again,” said Bart. “You know, where I come from, sharing food is like—the biggest thing you can do with someone. It’s about trust. I don’t trust just anybody with snack foods.”

“Well, maybe you could step it up,” said Jaime. “Invest in a higher quality snack food. I’m your boyfriend, I think I deserve it.” He straightened. “I’m using my lifeline. What do you think you’re doing here?”

“We-e-ell,” said Bart. He tipped his head and made a show of thinking it over. “Maybe—and I’m just saying this is a possibility, I’m not a mind-reader, not in my power set—I just like coming over to watch this hot guy I know get all sweaty and kinda greasy, and he wears these really tight shirts, and his jeans have a hole in the butt—”

“Aw, man,” said Jaime, craning to look, “Mom’s gonna kill me—I can’t keep wrecking my pants.” His legs parted, and his hip jumped up. The musculature so thick in his chest showed. So, too, did his crotch as Jaime pivoted.

“And maybe,” Bart went on, “I kind of sort of maybe a little bit want to give him a blowjob.”

Jaime, twisting his hips to one side in an attempt to find the hole in his jeans, staggered. “Jesus! Bart!”

“Ding-ding-ding!”

Bart clapped perfunctorily. He was already coming up on to his feet. Once he got a thought in his head, or a thought got in his head, he couldn’t let go of it; it wouldn’t let go of him. Something restless moved through him, so he moved with it.

“So what do you want me to do?”

His own heart trembled. Jaime blinked, and to Bart, it was an agonizingly slow thing. His lashes swept lazily down over his dark eyes. The curve of his Adam’s apple rose and then fell again.

Jaime said, “I have to watch the shop while my dad’s out.”

Bart kicked the swivel chair aside; then he was there in front of Jaime. They’d talked about boundaries once, a very long time ago. Now Bart knew to watch where he put his hands. He pressed in close, though, close enough the heat of Jaime and the nearness of him swallowed Bart. It was hot in the garage. Bart was sweating.

“Don’t you want to collect your prize?” Bart asked. “I would. I promised I’d do anything, and a hero always keeps his promises.”

Jaime’s fingers caught in Bart’s belt loops, and Jaime dipped his head, his lips brushing Bart’s cheek. The hair at Jaime’s chin had grown out, just a little; it scraped Bart’s jaw, lightly enough it was more the thought of his beard that itched at Bart than the hair.

“And what if somebody walks in, huh?” Jaime stroked his thumb across Bart’s crotch. “What am I supposed to do about that?”

“I only need a minute,” said Bart, gulping for air. He wanted, wanted, wanted. In Bart’s mind they were already naked and Jaime was leaning back against the car, his hands gripping the hood at either side of it, his neck arching and his bare chest sleek, and Bart was all over him.

“If we went inside the car—”

“Bart!” Jaime socked his arm. “Somebody _owns_ this, this isn’t my car! That’s messed up. They want this heap fixed not—defiled.”

“What? I don’t want to defile the car,” said Bart, as he ran his hand up Jaime’s taut belly, up his chest, Bart’s fingers skating over the t-shirt, “I just want to defile you. Please? Pretty please? Pretty, pretty please with two scoops and syrup and—”

“Jesus,” said Jaime, “do you want ice cream or do you want to make out? Get over here,” and he grabbed Bart by the wrist and swung them both around to the far side of the car. The garage was still open, and the sun was still up, but the car, jacked up as it was, hid them mostly from view.

Bart came up against the side of the car and, freeing his arm, he slipped his fingers into Jaime’s long, tied-back hair, tipped his head up, and kissed Jaime. His mouth fell open, Jaime’s too. They hadn’t made out in almost three whole days, and Bart had known every second to be a century, an aeon. Jaime’s hands framed Bart, one hand at his chest, the other hand between his shoulders.

Mrs Reyes said Bart was a chatty Cathy; he didn’t know when to shut up. He hardly meant to talk through everything, but half the time he didn’t realize he was talking until someone made a face at him or told him to shut up. Just everything he thought came spilling out.

What he thought was: he loved touching Jaime. He’d always loved touching Jaime. Maybe Bart had been starving for contact when he was a child – touching someone meant trusting them and there weren’t a whole lot of people to trust – because it had been easy, so easy, fitting in under Jaime’s arm or slinging his own arm around Jaime’s shoulders. He liked the way they fit together. He liked the way his body felt when Jaime touched it. He hoped Jaime felt the same way when Bart touched his body.

“Bart,” said Jaime, “Bart—I like touching you, too,” and his hand ghosted up the front of Bart’s shirt, his palm warm over Bart’s shivering heart. His kiss was languid, his breath hot, his tongue strong.

Bart clutched Jaime fiercely, his fingers digging into Jaime’s scalp, into his nape. He pushed his leg between Jaime’s legs; he wanted nearer. Jaime was hard in his jeans, and when Bart ground his thigh up against Jaime’s crotch, Jaime ground against Bart. Bart wanted to wrap around Jaime.

“I wanna hold you and hold you and hold you,” Bart was saying into Jaime’s mouth, into the next kiss and the kiss after that one, “I wanna—never stop touching you—”

Jaime! Jaime, Jaime. He hadn’t expected Jaime. How could he have expected Jaime? He hadn’t expected the sweetness of Jaime’s eyes, the sharp edges of his looks, the softness of his smiles, how Jaime would touch him back. And to be touched like that—

He kissed Jaime again, and Jaime tipped Bart back, tipped him so Bart bent like—like his spine was melting. Jaime tasted like sweat on his lips, water in his mouth. His beard scratched Bart’s skin, and he smelled powerfully of exertion and engine grease. Sweat spackled his face, grit his shoulders. Bart was thinking about Jaime, how he couldn’t get enough of Jaime, Jaime lecturing Bart about Star Wars, Jaime reading his medical texts, Blue Beetle, Jaime working in his dad’s garage. It wasn’t the sweat or the way the muscles in Jaime’s back worked, but Jaime.

Jaime said, “Bart—Bart, you’re such a pain—you’re wonderful,” and then, in Spanish, softly, I love you, I love you, I love you.

Bart scattered kisses across Jaime’s face and then he dropped to his knees before Jaime.

Jaime said, “Ah, God—oh, my God—” but if Bart believed in any gods, he believed in Jaime. He fumbled with the button clasp – his fingers worked too quickly – and then he was yanking down the zip, yanking down the jeans, grabbing for Jaime’s boxers as Jaime grabbed for Bart’s face.

He was hard; Bart was hard, too. The garage floor was cement and it was dirty the way things that are well traveled are dirty, and Bart’s knees would ache soon. He didn’t mind it then. When he licked Jaime’s swollen cock, from the base of it to the tip, Jaime swore again and turned his face away.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Bart told him. “It’s not like this is the first time I’ve done this.” He licked Jaime again and then, wrapping his hand around Jaime’s cock and beginning to pump, he sucked at the head.

Jaime banged his hand once against the car, then his knuckles tightened. He stroked Bart’s cheek, petted his ear.

“It’s not—shit—it’s just that I don’t know—”

Jaime sighed. His hips jerked forward and then stilled; he held himself there. Bart dragged his teeth gently over the tip of Jaime’s dick, and Jaime buried his face against his arm.

“I’m not embarrassed,” Bart said. Jaime tasted of salt, mostly, and Bart liked that. He liked everything about Jaime, pretty much. “I like touching you. You feel nice. And trust me, hermano, I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t want to do it.”

He rubbed his hand up then down Jaime’s length, holding the girth of him between his fingers. Jaime was wonderfully thick, wonderfully hot. His thighs trembled. When Bart kissed him there, at the soft skin between his balls, Jaime’s knees twisted.

“And I want to do it,” Bart breathed, licking up again, “I want to do it every day, I want to keep touching you, and it’s so bogus, that we have to just stop when I could totally do this forever—”

“Bart, please,” said Jaime, and his fingers were wound tight in Bart’s hair, and his breath was ragged, and he was plaintive, “can’t you keep your mouth shut for just one minute, I don’t want to, to make a mess—”

“Not if I want to do this,” said Bart happily, right before he bent to take Jaime in his mouth again.

He ran his tongue down that stretch of smooth skin, and Bart smiled – as much as he could smile with his mouth so full – at the way Jaime groaned and bit at his lip. Tension ran through him. His hips jerked again, his cock pressing into Bart’s cheek. The thickness of Jaime’s dick pushing between his teeth, the weight of it on Bart’s tongue—his gut clenched and Bart reached down to rub his palm against his own dick through his jeans.

Jaime groaned again. His fingers carded through Bart’s hair gently, gently. Fingertips grazed Bart’s temples. Jaime was saying Bart’s name over and over like it was Bart was holding him together and not the other way around. The way he said it made Bart think of the week before, when Jaime had read out loud from his biochem text to tease Bart.

“No,” Bart had said, “no, stop, it’s summer, I’m not even in school right now, why do you read so slow!” and Jaime had laughed, laughed until Bart had pulled Jaime’s sweatpants down over his hips and bowed. Jaime had been half-hard already, and he curled around Bart as Bart blew him as if to embrace him.

Desire swallowed Bart up. Love was bigger even than that. He thought of Jaime like he thought of the stars; but he could touch Jaime. He could hold Jaime, cling to Jaime, taste Jaime in his mouth, his throat. It was easy to get lost in Jaime. Sometimes he wanted to be lost in Jaime. There was something dangerous about that, but he wanted it all the same.

Jaime sighed, said, “Bart—” and touched Bart’s cheek. Helplessly, Bart palmed his cock, palmed, in the other hand, Jaime’s cock. Thoughts flicked scattershot through his memory:

Jaime bit at the knobs of Bart’s spine. Bart pushed Jaime down into Jaime’s sheets and Jaime smiled up at Bart. They were at a lecture at Jaime’s school and Jaime was taking careful notes in a spiral-bound notebook – his laptop had broken – and Bart, bored, slipped his hand into Jaime’s lap and Jaime hit Bart with the pen. Jaime, in a grease-stained t-shirt, stretched so the shirt pulled up and the hair at his navel showed. Jaime, as Blue Beetle, hooked his arm around Bart’s neck and dragged him in. And it was good. All of it was good.

Fingertips at his ear.

“Bart—”

Jaime made to pull away but Bart caught his hips and held him there, so that when Jaime came he came in Bart’s mouth, and Bart only coughed once and just barely. It was salty and bitter, but that wasn’t new, and the throbbing need of his own erection was enough he didn’t mind. Jaime had fallen forward, his head set against the car. His hand lingered at Bart’s face.

“Jesus,” said Jaime, breathless, shuddering still, “Bart—” and his thumb brushed Bart’s wet mouth.

Bart turned to kiss Jaime’s palm, and he came readily at the scent of Jaime’s sweat, at the bend of his wrist, at the shadow Jaime cast over him. It was a gift, the force of that pleasure and the ease of it. But his heart kept trembling.

“Aw, geez, Bart,” said Jaime, “your knees—” He reached for Bart.

Bart took Jaime’s hands and rose, rose to latch on to Jaime and hold him tight. He smelled so good—like work—and he was solid and steady and warm—like constancy.

“Close up early,” said Bart.

Jaime petted Bart’s face and kissed him, and his mouth was so very sweet. But—

“I can’t,” he said. “I promised my dad—”

“Come on,” said Bart, nuzzling Jaime’s throat, the suggestion of stubble at the corner of Jaime’s jaw. “I won’t tell, I promise.”

“Man—” Jaime snorted. “It’s bad enough I let you talk me into this.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Bart. “Now when exactly did you decide you hated blowjobs?” He burrowed closer, chasing after Jaime’s heat.

“You are some kind of monster,” said Jaime, but he pressed in close, too. “You know—I think I’m going to have to ban you from the garage. You can’t just barge in while I’m working and expect me to drop everything to pay attention to you.”

“Well, fine,” said Bart, “then maybe I’ll just go bug someone else instead and you can just be alone forever with somebody else’s car.”

Jaime caught Bart – only because Bart let him.

“Hey, slow down,” said Jaime, and he was smiling, “I didn’t say that. How many guys do you think want to drop what they’re doing to pay attention to you?”

“I don’t know,” said Bart, “you’re the guy who knows everything, so why don’t you tell me, Mister Brainy Beetle?”

He knew the answer, though: Jaime, just Jaime. Bart had been caught a long time ago.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, my goodness! Check out this super cute fanart Tumblr user mangosandstuff drew for this goofy thing I wrote: [first piece](http://mangosandstuff.tumblr.com/post/45087922076/fan-art-2-from-this-awesome-story), [the second](http://mangosandstuff.tumblr.com/post/45088023935/fanart-3-from). They're both so darling (the look of love on Jaime's face in the first piece! The humor in the second!) - thank you so very much, Mango! :D


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